Flow of Time
by CUtopia
Summary: Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts ends, Minerva reflects about time and about the death she has seen


Entry for "Transfigurations" at "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments)"

Write about either Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall.

1000 words minimum.

Entry for the "Muggle Art Club" at "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments)"

Surrealism – "The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali

To be honest, I just did let everything flow out of me^^ I feel like it became a bit chaotic of sorts, but that fits somehow, I think.

I hope you like it, please leave me your opinion :)

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><p>Minerva McGonagall stood in the round Headmaster's office in Hogwarts, her back turned to the desk and the room, her eyes focused on the sunrise outside the window that dipped the office and the grounds of the school into a warm, red light.<p>

The Battle of Hogwarts had ended a few hours ago and it was as if she had never felt so old like she felt today.

Her whole body was aching, her muscles seemed to be made of stone and her bones protested over every move she made.

She felt so damn tired.

A horrible year lay past her, a year full of never ending concern over her students here at Hogwarts, about Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger who had been somewhere out in the land, doing something. She had been concerned about her friends from the Order of the Phoenix and about her brother's Malcom and Robert and also about their families – luckily they had left the country when it had been clear that a war was coming up.

It was something that Minerva had been doing forever in her life. Being concerned about others.

Albus Dumbledore, her friend and mentor for decades, had once told her that he felt like there was never a minute passing without Minerva McGonagall worrying about someone.

And all these sorrows seemed to have sucked out her energy now.

She had always prided herself for feeling so much younger and more fit than others did at the age of 63 respectively, but right now it was as if she had aged decades.

Seeing her own reflection in the glass of the window she could see every line on her face, every single exhausting year seemed to be written down in these wrinkles and nothing reminded her of the picture of her younger self hanging in the Gryffindor common room.

Time had changed her so much.

With all it's persistence it had changed her and she felt like the days in which she had been young had turned to memory far to soon.

Time had flowed by faster than she had even noticed and here she stood, suddenly have been a teacher at Hogwarts for more than 40 years in which she had seen so many students come and go, so many different faces, so many different personalities, so many different children to remember. And she wished that she could remember them all.

She had seen two Wizarding Wars while being in the active resistance with both Orders and she had survived whereas she had seen so many allies and friends die, being killed in battles or slaughtered in the dark of the night and now they were only names, blurred pictures in her seemingly overfilled mind.

Albus dying had felt like a part of her had been ripped out, a part she had not thought that still existed after seeing all those friends fall.

Minerva asked herself how time could have passed so fast if it sometimes had felt as if minutes turned into hours and hours into days.

'Time is relative' a German muggle scientist had said once. Had he meant just this?

Maybe time was just a ridiculous, useless invention.

All these philosophic snippets made her head hurt even more and Minerva blinked a few times before she cleared her thoughts and turned away from the window, rubbing over her face with her palms.

"You look like hell, Minerva," a dry voice said and Minerva looked up to see Rolanda Hooch standing in the middle of the room. She had not noticed her entering the office at all.

"I am always happy about your compliments. I think we do quite match each other with our looks," Minerva answered weakly.

The two women looked at each other for a few moments before Rolanda walked over to one of the old wooden cupboards and took a full bottle of Scotch.

"Well... I think this is just the right thing for this moment," the younger witch said before she opened the bottle and took a very huge swig of the bronze liquid.

After gulping she offered the bottle to Minerva:"Here, drink, it helps."

The Scottish witch shook her head, her lips pressed together to a thin line before she answered:"How does this help? What does getting drunk change about this situation?! People died today, Rolanda. Students died. Our students!"

"Minerva..."

"No! I can't go on any more! I can't come out of another battle, having seen so many people die once again! I have seen to many deaths over the time! And today, there were so many children... they... they have barely experienced what life contains and... I cannot believe how uncaring you are acting! Don't you have any respect for the people who gave their life today?!"

Minerva's voice was rising and she felt rage boiling up inside of her, but not particularly on Rolanda – it was directed towards those people who had let it come so far, who had tried to force their sick ideals onto the whole world and had not been shrinking back from killing innocent people and children who had not even been born when the small group of like-minded people had formed in this school.

Rolanda took another huge gulp, her face red as she snarled back, tears in her eyes:"You think that I don't care?! Don't you humiliate me by calling me heartless, Minerva! Do you want to know why I am drinking from this god damned bottle?! Because I cannot stand the thought of them! I am not as strong as you, Minerva, I don't feel like I can deal with the memory of seeing them die!"

They don't needed words of apology to know that the other one was sorry, a look shared between the two friends was enough.

"Give me that rotten Scotch, don't drink it all by yourself," Minerva said and the two witches slumped onto one of the sofas, not caring about the scandalized sounds that came from the portraits on the walls – they were still wearing their dusty, partly muddy cloaks from the battle.

"I still cannot believe all of this truly happened," Rolanda mumbled and made one portrait moan as she placed her feet on a fragile looking coffee table. "How do you deal with all of this?!"

Minerva had to think about this for a few minutes. Had she really dealt with all the death around her? Had she been able to do so at all, had there ever been time for it?

Every death had been tragic, but there had always been a war going on an you had to watch out to stay alive.

After Albus' death she had had to watch out for the students.

"Not at all."


End file.
